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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420830">Vandals of Hammersmith</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010'>Galadriel1010</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Gen, Greg Lestrade &amp; John Watson Friendship, Hobbies, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson Friendship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:34:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John has clearly found himself a hobby that's taking him out of the flat regularly. Sherlock sets his mind to deducing it, but the answer surprises even him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vandals of Hammersmith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="Normal">"We need to go to the library." He sat upright and swung his legs around, only to find that John's chair was empty. A mug of tea stood on the coffee table, nearly cold, with a note through the handle. He opened the note and took a sip of the tea. 'Gone out. Dinner in the microwave for you. J.'</p><p class="Normal">There was, indeed, dinner in the microwave waiting for him to reheat it, and the experiment he'd left running had been taken off the heat and moved to a safe place. John was intending to be gone for some time, then. He poked around in the kitchen some more, found the full bottle of milk and the prepared fruit with the note that read 'breakfast :)' and surmised that John would be away overnight, by which time the microwave had beeped and he could get his dinner out and eat it.</p><p class="Normal">He cleared a space on the table, pushing aside two Erlenmeyer flasks to make room for the bowl, and sat down on the Times to eat it and consider the evidence. It wasn't the first time that John had gone to stay somewhere overnight recently - in fact, it had been happening with some regularity, possibly every week, although it had been quiet recently and Sherlock couldn't swear to the number of days between incidences. He would start keeping better track.</p><p class="Normal">Whatever the regularity, it seemed that John had found himself a new girlfriend, and one who he was keen on, if he was keeping her away from Sherlock. But then he was making sure that Sherlock ate still, rather than forcing him to fend for himself - and he did somewhat resent the implications that he couldn't, unless they came from Lestrade - so he wasn't intending to leave Baker Street. Or maybe he was feeling guilty about it?</p><p class="Normal">Sherlock couldn't understand John's motivations regarding his stream of girlfriends - it was unlikely that he would ever leave Baker Street for long, after all, and all the girls he'd dated since Sherlock had met him had been, to be frank, dull and unintelligent. If they were more like Sarah he could understand it, but she had been a rare jewel by comparison.</p><p class="Normal">Sentiment, he decided, leaving the empty bowl on the kitchen table and returning to the sofa. They'd have a case soon, and then she'd either get fed up with him or prove her worth.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>The victim was a young man in his early twenties. University student, heavy drinker, two girlfriends who didn't know about each other, played sports at school but hadn't joined up at university, probably because of the commitment as he hadn't suffered an injury or illness. Studying business 'ba-beep' and intending to travel abroad soon, probably within Europe.</p><p>"His girlfriends might be able to tell us something," he told Lestrade, pulling the gloves off as he did so. "Although it's unlikely that they will. They didn't know about each other, whatever they try to tell you."</p><p>"Right..." Lestrade folded his arms and sighed. 'Ba-beep'. "Do you think you could explain any of that, or should I just stick a finger in the air and guess."</p><p>'Ba-beep.' "I'll... John, what is that beeping?" He wheeled on his flatmate and stabbed a finger at him. "It's very annoying."</p><p>"Sorry." He reached for his pocket and realised that it was hidden underneath the blue cover-all. "It's in my jeans, and I can't figure out how to turn it off anyway."</p><p>Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Only you, John. I'll fix it when we get out of here, if you like."</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>Sherlock glared at him and gestured to the door as it 'ba-beeped' again. "Go and stand outside, at least. It's putting me off. Lestrade, you'll have to stay - I didn't bring the skull."</p><p>He crouched again and pulled his gloves back on to get a closer look, but his mind was on John's phone. He'd had a lot of messages without replying to any of them, so they weren't from one person – unless his girlfriend really couldn't take a hint. His lack of concern indicated that it wasn't all one person, so more likely a group. His circle of friends was small, and half of them were in that room, but the recent increase in communications suggested that he'd expanded his friendship group.</p><p>Increased number of regular nights out, increased number of friends, suggested that he'd joined a club or society, probably one with a message board that was sending the messages he was ignoring. Not a girlfriend then – something of a relief, even if they could use an extra hand now and again.</p><p>Lestrade was watching him, so he leaned closer to the body and started pointing out the clues before he could ask questions.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>It was another Wednesday, and John had gone out again. He got back late that night, whilst Sherlock was watching snails crawling around the inside of the bell jar. He watched Sherlock watching the snails, watching... well, no. The snails weren't watching anything. Sherlock watched him in the reflection though, in their place, and raised his eyebrows as he took in the signs. "Good night out?"</p><p>"Excellent, thanks." John took his coat off and hung it up. "Snails still going?"</p><p>He hummed an agreement and looked at John properly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the signs. "You've been drinking..."</p><p>"Well done. Here." He fished in his pocket and tossed something to Sherlock. "I brought you a beer mat to stand your experiments on."</p><p>"How kind." He picked it up and studied it, noted the ragged edge where John had been fingering it in his pocket, that it was unused prior to that, the microbrewery brand. Stamford was the beer bore, but Lestrade had shown his hand and mentioned their nights out a few weeks before, so they were going out together, to places that served real ales. That he didn't always return afterwards suggested it wasn't always the same pub.</p><p>"You know, you could just ask me what I'm up to," John pointed out, rounding the table and reaching for the kettle. "Or is that not on?"</p><p>"Not necessary." He sniffed and returned his attention to the snails. "You're not that interesting."</p><p>"Of course I'm not. But you are that..." John sighed. "Tea?"</p><p>"Yes please." A group of friends going to a pub. There were clearly others Sherlock didn't know, judging by the frequent emails, so a team of some sort. Three intelligent men, spending nights in pubs together, and John's googling habits had become increasingly random. The logical conclusion was that they had gone completely mad and joined a pub quiz league.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>A month after he concluded that they'd joined a pub quiz, fresh information forced him to reassess once again. They'd been on the trail of a serial killer preying on sex workers in the early hours of the mornings. Not fitting the killer's type, they'd been forced to haunt the shadows, watching the working girls from the darkness and waiting for their target to strike again.</p><p>When he did, their hiding place gave them the element of surprise, but the distance gave him time to get away. Whilst Lestrade's team took care of the frightened girls, Sherlock took off in pursuit of the killer. He was fast, almost faster than Sherlock, and he didn't have time to worry about John and Lestrade keeping up with him...</p><p>But they did keep up, and John barrelled into him in time to stop him killing Sherlock and to hold him down for Lestrade to arrest. Whilst Sherlock gasped, winded, and watched the stars wheeling overhead, Lestrade and John kept hold of their captive, waited for back-up to collect him and congratulated each other on a job well done.</p><p>"You two..." he gasped at last, rolling to one side to ignore the baleful glare from their prisoner. "You two..."</p><p>"Couldn't have done it without you," Lestrade informed him cheerfully. "Should have used you as bait from the start."</p><p>"What he means is that you're a bloody idiot who should be more careful." John reached down to help him up and kept a hand on his elbow to steady him. "One day they'll be quicker than you, and then where will you be?"</p><p>"That, even I don't know the answer to." He waved John off and fumbled in his pocket for his torch so that he could look at their captive. "You kept up well, though. Better than usual, despite the fact that it was a faster chase than usual. Our friend here is probably an athlete, he's strong but it's not just bulk from a gym. You two, on the other hand..."</p><p>"I'm saying nothing," Greg said, which said a lot. The police cars rounded the corner and he waved them over unnecessarily. "Need you to come down the station, Sherlock; give us at least something to work with."</p><p>"Fine." With two mysteries solved in one night, he was happy to comply.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>Spring came, warm and sweet, and the flat filled with the cloying scent of fresh grass from the park down the road, and with the acidic taint of exhaust fumes caught in the soft fog. John continued his Wednesday evening appointments, but they began to be interspersed with Tuesdays and Fridays and Saturdays. Days when John would be unavailable and would either return mildly inebriated or not at all, but entertained and socialised. It was doing him good; Sherlock could admit that.</p><p>He might not like it, but he could admit it.</p><p>The morning after one such off-schedule night out, Sherlock sat at the kitchen table with the Times and observed John, who was stumbling around the kitchen in his dressing gown, trying to find a safe mug.</p><p>He was favouring his right hand, as he did occasionally these days, and there was slight bruising on the backs of two fingers. He was also limping slightly, favouring a swollen ankle, which drew Sherlock's attention to his calves. Always strong, they were now even more defined and developed, out of proportion to the rest of his recent muscle gain.</p><p>"Can you get your eyes off my arse, Sherlock, and tell me what you've done with all the mugs?" John turned around and put a mug down on the table so that Sherlock could see the blue crystals that formed rings around the inside of it. "You need to do some washing up."</p><p>"I saved you a mug." He pouted and pointed at the cupboard above the fridge. "And a plate and a bowl. They're in that cupboard so I don't forget and use them."</p><p>"Oh... right." He reached up into the cupboard for the mug and, without looking around, said, "Eyes on the paper, Sherlock."</p><p>Sherlock grunted and reached for the local paper to look for sports teams in the area that would cause that type of muscle development and that combination on injuries.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>The constantly changing data was starting to grate. His conclusions would settle and then John, or sometimes Lestrade or Stamford, would throw another clue into the game and everything would shift. This week they were humming.</p><p>John and Lestrade were humming, anyway. Full of curry and pleasantly warm from a bottle each of Riggwelter, they were slumped on the sofa ignoring both Sherlock and the TV, humming absently. They couldn't get the full tune, either of them, but Lestrade would start and John would finish it, or finish a different tune, and then go off into something else entirely. If either of them had been able to hold a tune it would have been easier to determine what it was, but as neither of them was aware of it and neither of them could hum, it was merely an annoying buzz that had disrupted his conclusions.</p><p>"You're humming," he snapped at last, "and it's terrible."</p><p>"Who is?"</p><p>"Both of you." He reached for his violin and glared at them. "It's utterly tuneless and very distracting."</p><p>They shrugged at each other and returned to pretending to watch TV, whilst he sawed at the strings and then launched into the violin part of Brahms' fifth Hungarian Dance. One day he'd meet a pianist he could tolerate for long enough to play with them - or he'd resort to playing with Mycroft again.</p><p>John and Lestrade were tapping along with the music now, perfectly in time. Whatever their evening activities were, they had improved their rhythm. Rowing would do that, but it would develop their shoulders and arms more. Developed calves, though, were a sign of dancing. Ballet? Ridiculous. Ballroom? Wouldn't explain the pubs. Street dance? The mental images made him laugh. Belly dancing? The mental images sent him screaming for the hills.</p><p>He let the music carry on where it would and turned back to watch them again. For now, he was happy to wait for more evidence to present itself before he jumped to another conclusion.</p><p class="Normal"># # #</p><p>It was a warm summer night when the answers finally came. John was sitting in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm and watching his mobile, whilst Sherlock read through a pile of case notes Lestrade had brought him. The windows were open onto the street, letting in the noise of the traffic and the slight breeze that stirred the curtains. Along with the usual quiet noises of a balmy London evening, though, there came a sound he didn't expect, a sound more suited to the depths of winter. Carried on the breeze was the sound of bells.</p><p>John sat upright at last, tilted his head to the side to listen, and then went to the window to look out. When he turned back it was to stride across the room and grab Sherlock from his chair. "You've got to see this," he insisted. "Worth it, I promise."</p><p>He called Mrs Hudson out on their way downstairs, and then the three of them were clustered on the doorstep, watching the advancing...</p><p>Morris dancers.</p><p>Sherlock came up blank. He'd deleted morris dancing, deeming it irrelevant. Yet again, John had proved himself more knowledgeable about utter trivia. It only rankled a little.</p><p>Clad in white, yellow and black, carrying handkerchiefs and sticks, the morris team strolled up the pavement to gather in front of the café, and Lestrade detached himself from them to join Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson. "John, didn't think you'd make it tonight! After all, it's such a long way from yours." He saluted them with a pint he probably shouldn't have been drinking and gestured back down the street with it. "You should have joined us earlier, though. Damn good beer festival."</p><p>"I think you've had enough for both of us," John laughed. "Besides, don't we need permission from Squire?"</p><p>"You can ask him if you like, he's over there." A tall, slim man with a neat beard and a blue and yellow rugby shirt waved to them when he saw Lestrade gesticulating, and John waved back. "Lost Liam somewhere along the way, though."</p><p>"You joined a morris team?" Sherlock blurted at last, when he could get a word in edgeways. "Why aren't you in kit?"</p><p>John grinned, insufferably smug. "We dance with Hammersmith, because they practice near Greg's flat and he was already dancing with them when he suggested I take it up. Same pubs, different dance styles."</p><p>"And better hats," Lestrade added, as if this was important. "And no... things. Yellow and black."</p><p>"Tabards," John finished for him. "But we get baldricks instead."</p><p>"Well I think it's brilliant," Mrs Hudson said. "Traditions are dying out, and we should do our best to preserve them. It's a crying shame that you won't be dancing at the Olympics."</p><p>"We won't be invited, but I don't think that's going to stop us." Lestrade finished his drink and put the empty glass down on the doorstep. "Should probably have stopped at two."</p><p>"Sofa's yours if you want it." John smirked. "Even if you don't, if you keep going at this rate."</p><p>"Stopping now, but I might take you up on it anyway." The brash notes of an accordion rang out and he leaned closer to John. "I feel harsh saying it, but their lines are crap."</p><p>John giggled. "I've heard that their hop backs aren't up to scratch either. Want another beer before we get started properly?"</p><p>"Sure, if I'm stopping here anyway."</p><p>Sherlock watched John bound back up the stairs and then turned back to Lestrade. "Morris dancing, really?"</p><p>"Yeah, why not?" He grinned. "Besides, it was fun waiting for you to catch on to what we were doing. We would have told you if you'd just asked."</p><p>"Would have ruined the fun though, wouldn't it dear?" Mrs Hudson patted him on the shoulder, and John emerged from the flat again. "You should go along with them sometime."</p><p>"Yeah, come join Hammersmith," Lestrade agreed. "Then John will be free to join Westminster - he's much more their type of dancer."</p><p>"Cheeky bastard. And just as I'm bringing you beer, too." He passed the bottle over anyway and leaned in the doorway to watch them dance. "I see what you mean about their lines."</p><p>"Yeah, they're as bad as yours." He held his bottle out and John clinked his own against it. "Cheers."</p><p>"Cheers." John turned to Sherlock and shrugged one shoulder. "So, what do you think?"</p><p>He turned back to watch the dancing and considered it. "I could," he conceded thoughtfully, "be persuaded. Maybe." He looked down at John and smiled. "I can point out where you're syncopated, at least."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I probably wrote this in 2011.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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